Exipotic Warfare
by Zaedah
Summary: The fraction of a woman with the refinement of an ashtray had played him.
1. The Promotions of War

_In answer to Discord in the Garden's challenge (which answered mine with the heart wrenching extravaganza that is Underestimating), but requires more typing than I can manage in one night. I humbly offer this opening chapter. The rest is complete (it's handwritten so don't be impatient, Syd!) Forgive the typos birthed of sleepy fingers...__  
_

* * *

**Exipotic Warfare**

A meeting behind glass is not a private affair. While words are muffled by the thick panes, gestures and expressions are on display for the few passersby who dare to dawdle outside. The presence of a man of average height and forgettable features hovering by the stairwell, face shielded by a report, was ignored in the rush of a Monday in progress. He was studying the assembled group, their images distorted slightly by streaks in the newly washed glass.

The news had been delivered hours ago. Absorption was today's program.

The people seated in the enclosed room were hardly strangers to the observer; the trendy girl, the young man and their veteran colleague. The team spanned the length of the table, coffee mugs abandoned before them. For all the easy camaraderie, it was the speaker, a woman in a pressed pantsuit, who seemed out of place. Her collar appeared to trouble her neck and her fingers rose frequently to relief the itch of unfamiliar clothing. Analysts would pick apart the clues in her stance, the nervous hands and the quick, darting glance to the third man, a blond who stood detached and reserved.

Connor was biting the life out of his tongue.

The watcher grinned, feasting on the prospect of discord among the lead team. It was justice. The stairs were growing crowded with the stampede of the mid-morning and the man was content with the sights his mind had captured and catalogued. Cutting a path through the throng, Nigel Caspett returned to his own team in the glow of a plan.

**…………**

"So, let me get this straight," Terry Picerno huffed, his pace brisk enough to send carpet fibers into orbit. "She's never led a team, but now she's over all of them? And what wormhole did I drop through again?"

Caspett sipped his latte with more relish than store brand coffee deserved. "Kate moved up. Someone had to fill the space."

He'd been choking down venom all morning to keep it from rising into his tone. There had to be stability of face and voice in order to gauge where his group stood.

"And four team leaders were bypassed for a lab troll like me?" The hopeful face under the tan cowboy hat belonged to Kyle Tienkin. "Nice."

Nigel considered the two men sharing his cramped office. Kyle, showing the first signs of decent whiskers, possessed a photographic memory that failed to shave the naivety from his small-town integrity. Terry, meanwhile, had recently permitted liquor to coax a confession of environmental terrorism as his wholesome hobby. The third member, Lucy, was nothing singularly outstanding; simply a woman good enough at an array of useful tasks. And Desmond was… Desmond.

"Should have been you, boss." Terry was watching him now. "First Ewing's promoted over you and now this."

"It's not like you haven't been here forever." Kyle's high register leaned toward insulting and Nigel cast him a firm stare.

"Remember that your place here is conditional, boy."

A tap on the door preceded the entrance of a lovely woman in a modest skirt. Renita was Caspett's fantasy made flesh, even as her pretty face carried the weight of her distrust. He motioned her in further but she held her ground under the door frame.

"Interim Director Durant wants to see you."

It was a testament to her nimble tongue that Renita managed to get the sentence past the grapefruit-sized gum. He tried to unstuck his mind from that mouth as he pounded through the halls, knocked on the door still labeled 'Ewing' and crossed the threshold. Expecting to find a mess of cardboard boxed to rival a storage unit, Caspett was greeted by the minimalist approach to her relocation. Not that lab rats accumulate much bric-a-brac at their stations. The office wasn't overly large, which had been Kate's token attempt to show that she wasn't a power-hungry demon.

Behind the gleaming walnut desk borrowed from someone else, Natalie Durant waited in a crisp white shirt, jacketless, with hair loose but smooth. No lipstick, he noted. It wouldn't be long until the frazzled look creeps in, sending the woman to the depths of middle-aged weariness. He'd spoken with her many times, always as a superior and never had he found any facet of her especially winning. Connor's contentment with the woman was baffling.

"Director, you sent for me." Keep it short and deny her eye contact, so went his goal for this initial volley.

"I'm hoping to talk to all the heads today, get a feel for where everyone is."

_Under you_, his itching brain supplied. Durant's voice, too hard to be feminine, betrayed her hesitance and Caspett's internal smile tried to break its shackles.

"My team is ready, Director." Dear, he'd have to watch the tendency to spit out that title. "And at your disposal."

She fiddled with a pencil, sifting through possible responses. "I understand you're two hours from leaving on your next case. How do you prefer to update NIH on your progress and needs?"

"Communication by phone for urgent matters and a summary e-mail at the end of each day."

"That's good," she said and Caspett tamped down the cringe. He was no schoolboy seeking praise for the simple things.

"Is that all?"

Blue eyes scanned him for a moment, as though meeting anew. "Yes. I'm sure you're in a hurry." If one leaned to the right, the ears could nearly catch the envy in her tone.

**............**

The shade of turquoise accomplished by the Pacific Ocean was miraculous. The gulls floated on an ideal breeze while in a Latino clinic, bodies lay writhing in the scorch of an imaginary sun. So crimson was the skin pf each victim that it seemed they'd all bathed in red egg dye. Caspett had been, in younger days, the kind of physician that would suffer the pangs of sympathy in the course of the greater good. Now the faces squinting up at him with agony stirred not his empathy but only consideration of the publication benefit. Papers by Nigel Caspett found easy homes in the finer journals. If his new boss had ever submitted pathological findings, it certainly hadn't merited his notice.

His former adversary had taken the change in stride.

In truth, Stephen Connor was still his rival, though Nigel's current focus would take precedence. That Caspett's team was never listed as primary, that they had only a half of team one's prestige, that Renita's starved eyes tracked Connor's every move, only added sharper edges to Nigel's anger. Natalie Durant's impending failure as director would not only throw an unflattering light on Connor, but would leave Nigel as the logical choice for the position.

He'd be damned if he would let them grant power yet again to lesser before getting to him.

Lucy pulled together the information to forward to Durant while Kyle scuttered from bed to bed seeking clues. Terry had been dispatched to the apartment complex where all of the ill resided though Nigel wasn't expecting specimens gathered there to provide useable data. Connor preached commonalities of the whole but Caspett trusted in patient zero for the bulk of his theories, which was unfortunate in this case. It had consumed most of his afternoon, questioning the dreaded third party instead of the preferred source. Although the two year old could say mama, dada and juice, she was too deep into coma to muster even those. The parents hindered Nigel's inquiry, refusing to believe their child had brought this rash of illness about. Nigel wasn't blaming the kid, as the father would soon accuse in a two-language diatribe. Rather, he was considering all possibilities, the mark of a competent investigator. Desmond had taken over shortly after a chair had been tossed, the lab tech putting aside his test tubes to whisper in Spanish to the grieving couple.

As the host of swabs returned under Terry's arm, Caspett worked to chart the toddler's day and was reminded why having children was best left to others. Like Lucy, who had just weeks ago popped out a little boy and yet resumed liaison duties that today took her to the opposite shore from her offspring. A photo of his one day old face hung from a keychain but the baby wasn't mentioned.

"I have the e-mail ready," Lucy announced before downing a third espresso.

"Too early yet," Caspett said. Wait until Letterman's over, his old leader used to order. The tactic ensured that either there was enough information available to form initial conclusions or the reader was half-asleep.

The clock, slow moving beast of technology, attested to the last hour, inconsequential as time was on this job. They worked while twilight collapsed on the waiting planet, running cultures, analyzing results and posing more questions to the reddened patients not yet at coma-stage. The state of things was not satisfactory, Caspett decided by one o'clock and looked for something, anything, to distinguish what they've achieved.

At three am, the toddler died.

The update e-mail was sent ten minutes later, minus that fact. By morning, two elderly patients had also shed their earthly confines to the sound of much wailing. Gnashing of teeth would follow, Caspett fretted, should the tide not turn. When Terry's swabs had divulged a commonality, Nigel cursed Connor and blessed the breakthrough.

Team two was so often overshadowed by team one that it seemed nothing could grow in the absence of light. With the loss of their pathologist, the cohesiveness that had defined Connor's brood would crumble and allow Caspett's group to shine. This moment of discovery, when patients are yanked from death's party, was perfectly timed for the second day's e-mail. The director responded immediately: Good work.

This time, the principal's head pat was almost welcome. Which wouldn't spare her.

* * *

_**Exipotic: Purging**_

Part two coming to a dusty screen near you...


	2. Bitch Authorization

**Exipotic Warfare**

**Chapter Two**

The largest of the NIH break rooms was a petri dish of starved bodies assaulting vending machines for their wares. Caspett and Terry occupied one corner table, watching the drifts of people slide in and fall out like standing tides. The contents behind plexiglass had no place in a medical establishment but the chocolate covered calorie-fests were an accepted staple.

In the lulls, Terry huddled closer in grand conspiracy, a Coke gripped between orange-stained his fingers.

"They say her first week was the calm before the storm. Kate's helping her adjust, Connor's been out with a case and the workload hadn't hit her yet."

"It'll bury her soon enough and they'll be searching for the body."

A cheesy smile, tainted by powder-coated curls, was given. "They say she won't last a month. Not built for bureaucratic stress."

Working with Connor should have imbued her with a much thicker skin but somehow the woman still came off as a lightweight. And no amount of victim heroics would have prepared her for the brutal warfare that was the budget meeting. If their funding relied on a shaky-spined pushover, teams would have to dip into their own pockets for pens. He half-expected his NIH-issued gas card to be declined this very morning.

"I tell you," Terry coughed out after a vicious slurp of soda. "I don't get the chain of ascension here. All this leapfrogging makes no sense."

"Corporate America's tactics were perfected first by the government, some of which are admirable."

The golf course bomber in a lab coat crushed his empty can against the crumb-littered table. "Maybe you should borrow one of those tactics."

Moments later, Nigel and his pink lady apple headed for the hall, a new strategy formulating. As the cliché says, if you can't beat'um…

**…………**

Sitting in the director's oversized visitor chair, Caspett listened as Durant approached her office, chunky heels thudding against linoleum at a slow jaunt. Outside, the moon glow combed its way across the green planet below, leaves stirring in the autumn breeze. It was the kind of night one savored. And he intended to.

"Hi," Durant greeted the back of his head, moving his outstretched legs to slip into the high-back leather chair. Her shoulders were set in the raised line of one for whom the day couldn't conclude fast enough.

There was an early gourd perched on one corner of her desk, black eyes and upcurved mouth etched in permanent marker. Nigel fingered its crooked stem, turning it to face the weary woman as a gesture of friendship. How it pained him to perform the tiny deed.

"You're following in Director Ewing's footsteps, I see."

Durant's not quite warm expression tripped into something colder still. "Meaning?"

"That you're here far too late to be healthy." Caspett threw a blanket over his tone and watched it ease the chill from her face.

Under the desk, Durant could be seen toeing her shoes off partially, seeking relief. But she either remembered her station or her company because her feet were quickly stuffed back into their prison.

"Two weeks ago, we were freezing our organs into failure in the tundra. Eight pm doesn't seem so harmful in comparison."

Rubbing his dry palms, Caspett dug for a gracious bone to toss to the shrew and wound up with, "I'm sure you'll settle in nicely." The lie of it was adding width to his bald spot.

A tired swipe at the eyes with the back of her hand was a victory.

"I hope so. All of the teams have been patient and Kate's been…" a shrug, suggesting she had to dig as deep as Nigel for compliments. "Available."

"Tell me," Nigel grasped the gourd and inspected the bottom. "How did you feel when you got the news?"

The turn to girlish civility widened her eyes. "Um, surprised would cover it. I had no idea Kate was looking to advance beyond this. And I'm just," a hand gestured in thoughtful circles, "a lab tech."

"But a star in pathology," he offered despite the rebelling heave of his chest.

She was fighting the blush, apparently unused to praise from a leader. "I just did my best. As you do, I know."

Caspett's reputation had long been secured by the terse lines in his face, the air of superiority that he'd earned by a lifetime of service. It made no difference to him if a peon saw the worth of his efforts. She took to fingering the lowest strands of honeyed hair, which was more than enough reason to end this farce. It called for a missile.

"And I'm sure Stephen is pleased that one of his own was chosen."

Aim, fire, obliterate. The target's eyes hit the floor, the shoulders sagging. while Connor would never leave the field, it didn't mean he'd accepted one of his underlings lording rules over his bleached head.

Of course, Caspett had no illusions that Connor wanted Ewing's job; the man despised the bowing and falsities that came with the title as much as Nigel did. Only Caspett had the ambition to foresee an end to that requirement. He'd change the institution, mold it to his ease.

"He'll get used to it, like everyone else." Durant's voice strove for decisive, nearly making it. So there was a backbone in that feminine casing, however hidden by off-the-rack clothing.

"Indeed."

Bidding her good night, Nigel had to chain down his enthusiasm to keep from prancing to his office. He had no wish to be the snipling's confidante but surely keeping the lines open would gain him greater maneuverability. After all, speed and strength isn't the only was to win a race. Sometimes it all comes down to positioning.

**…………**

Two weeks of lugging around the director mantle and the wearer was showing signs of fatigue. The walk was slower, the eyes trimmed in hues of pink. Stealing funding from the greedy hands of more experienced operators was harder than discerning a pathogen from a molecule. Still, Caspett was tempted to applaud her determination.

Meanwhile, his little protégé was eating from the bowl of his own temptation, Kyle's eyes trailing after the woman as a bear might a walking fish. She'd earned a few admirers, none important enough to save her from the blows coming in from the brass.

Yesterday's progress hearing had reenacted the Titanic.

And the deeper she sank, the higher Nigel's iceberg rose. With his team behind him, in as far as they were aware, Caspett scanned for easier cases and made them seem far more complex in reports. The accolades would tip the scales in his favor as Durant's stock plummeted.

It was still early on a brisk morning when he neared the director's office on his way to the DNA lab. The sun was struggling to shake off the dark curtain and the dim orange light crept reluctantly into the corner of the room that Nigel could see from the hall. Their hushed voices took straining to hear at first and Caspett spared a thought to being caught with his ear pressed to his boss's doorframe. That the florescent lights overhead hadn't been switched on gave him a mustard seed of courage.

"They're eating me alive."

He liked to think of Durant's thin tone as a precursor to resignation. In the brightening light, elongated shadows splashed up the walls. The stances didn't look promising.

"Then get off their plate."

"You know it's harder than that. I've got ten pans in the fire and they're all scorched."

"Then let someone else burn."

Caspett leaned closer, imagining Connor flexing his jaw in customary impatience as he delivered the harsh advice.

Her huff was an affront to the prestigious establishment housing it. "You're telling me to quit?"

The slowly rising volume would soon make the act of eavesdropping pointless. In minutes anyone on this floor might hear.

"I'm telling you to stop being a willing target. If you want Kate's job, act like her."

The irony choked a laugh out of Durant. "You hated Kate."

"I didn't…" Stephen paused to bite off the lie. "We had issues. But as she liked to remind me, I never complained about her results."

"Because results are all that matter?" The edge slicing into her words indicated that the man was digging his own grave.

Connor must have sensed the shovel because he turned faintly apologetic. "I didn't say that."

Then there was nothing; no words, no sighs. Damn Connor for being able to yell his way into trouble and then soothe his way out. Nigel envisioned inhumanly pale puppy dog eyes and retched.

"So you're authorizing me to be a bitch." There was a smile dawning in her voice. Curses, Nigel registered with a shiver, sounded like sandpaper on her tongue, no matter how true the title.

"You don't need me to authorize anything."

"Do you…" her breath rattled Nigel's teeth. "Do you think I don't need you?"

And there it was; the subtext. Nigel heard everything not said and wondered how that might benefit his plans.

The director was moving in the office now, her heels catching every so often on the carpet. Daring a peek inside, Caspett found two colleagues standing too close and generating enough intensity to short the wiring. But not a hand was raised in inappropriate contact, not a word could be cited as evidence of impropriety. But proximity meant intent. If not now, some day.

That's all Nigel needed.

His two least favorite beings must not be allowed to meld into one unit against his future. He would bring Durant down, claim his rightful place and his long-nurtured desire to surpass Connor would be realized.

Whatever answer Connor had summoned to her insipid question was lost in whispers and the echo of gears grinding in Nigel's brain.

* * *

**Some five-odd chapters remain in this happy saga. Stay tuned and don't forget to feed the author...**


	3. Advising the Enemy

**_Many thanks for the return visit. We're moving right along to the surprise ending. Please enjoy!_**

* * *

**Exipotic Warfare**

**Chapter Three**

The hints were subtle, for all that Caspett's tongue ached to flap about real and invested problems. When the usually wasted exercise known as the anonymous job satisfaction review arrived in his inbox, Nigel asked his team to be unabashedly truthful in their assessment of their new director. Terry and Lucy both knew of his career ambitions and since having the proverbial foot in the door boded well for their own advancement, the pair were only to glad to give his unspoken cause a push. Kyle, soaking in the cesspool of unabated lust, wrote of his affection in detail. The opinions of the senior should outweigh one cupid-struck newbie.

The next opportunity came in a team leader meeting, from which the head of team one was blessedly absent. Seeds were dropped into the abundant holes in his fellow leaders' heads. No one present was fit to be promoted ahead of him, yet that seemed irrelevant to the higher-ups. The move from grunt to team head had been as laborious as birthing quads, leaving Caspett to wonder about the collective eyesight of the surrounding world.

No one saw his gifts. He'd have to point them out.

The newly published paper, based on the work of the combined team, bore his name alone under the large black heading and the award that followed was tacked on his wall. Things pushed forward at roach-speed while his eye remained on the director's chair, currently occupied by an increasingly harried woman. Several times he'd spied her chatting with her former teammates in what he labeled fraternizing with intent to favor. Out of concern for fairness, he was naturally induced to mention it to the brass.

The hints were mounting into a hill from which she'd be shoved.

Caspett's inner gloating threatened to spill out, he realized, when Durant called him into her office after he'd returned triumphant over a new strain of dung bacteria. Another paper was being polished at home and he longed to wrap himself in the quiet of his apartment to finish it. But here he sat in a space echoing with the woman's affinity for the piano, her radio situated on the window sill as a trifling piece ended with a garbled announcement. Music expos at local high schools shouldn't have interested an important NIH player but Durant noted the day and time on a green sticky note before addressing the fidgeting man.

"Nigel, I need to ask your advice on how to handle something."

It was the fourth such instance of council-seeking in the last month and he had to continually stuff his revulsion into his socks. Settling back into the deep cushioning of his chair, Nigel nodded his consent.

"I have to deal with an insubordinate employee. It's my first time giving official correction and I need to make sure I'm being fair but firm.

At least it's not personal because hearing social life woes would have introduced his stomach contents into the discussion. This he could do. Pity wasn't in his nature so the target of her reprimand would be made to pay for this intrusion on his good day.

"If I were director, I would commit the rebuke to their permanent file. If the deed was severe enough, consider an official inquiry. Either way, the person must be taker to task without concern for niceties."

"Leaving room for leniency, of course," she prompted and his wrath over her inadequacy surged to a boil in his throat.

"You have to be tough to sit in this room, Ms. Durant. You aren't here to make friends. Holding back reward is for the vain and holding back punishment is for the weak."

Shuffling papers absently, she kept her gaze on nothing in particular. Which was a shame since Caspett wanted to watch the truth sink into those dishwater eyes and carve a few wrinkles in her face. Rather, she turned back to him with something swerving toward genuine appreciation.

"You think I'm not hard enough on the staff?"

There she goes again, seeking approval from her male counterparts.

"I heard Watson took results hope, breaking the chain of evidence and he got a week off. With partial pay." Bitterness crept in and was stomped down with care and a breath. "I think it's a fine line you'll tread. And there are sharks on either side of every decision.

Durant leaned back, rocking the chair slightly and processed this wisdom, or at least he presumed that was the cause of silence. The standard-issue clock ticked off the seconds, his stomach rumbling with every sixth stroke of the thin black stick rounding the white face. The time piece in his office was a mahogany pendulum-driven device that never failed to illicit notice. Her hands were clasped on the desk, as useful as a paperweight and from the tangle of fingers, Durant stretched out one index finger to point at him.

"If you were in my place, how would you find protection from the sharks?"

"It helps," Caspett rubbed the wispy hairs on his chin, "To know what and who you need protection from. NIH is a well-run machine but even we have… strays."

"And they need a firm hand. Someone to shove them back into line."

Had he not wanted the job, Nigel could have enjoyed molding her. "Exactly. We're not talking the kind of dictatorship they hang you for, but certainly a bit of martial law never hurt business."

"That's what I needed to hear. Thank you, Nigel."

His name on her lips was profane but upon standing, he performed the slightest bow in the spirit of his colonial ancestors.

"My pleasure."

**…………**

NIH letterhead is a masterpiece of deeply embossed block script and the profile of the building gracing one corner. The sheet resting in Caspett's inbox was but a copy and he anticipated the raise, commendation or promotion it may contain.

The word 'insubordination' and 'warning' turned his lungs inside out. The resulting choke had Kyle running for a cup of water. He was being scolded for conduct unbecoming a healthcare professional, referring presumably to his gossip-spreading. The paper was thrown at the trash can like it was tainted by leprosy and the speed with which he downed the proffered water would match the coming alcohol consumption.

She played him.

The fraction of a woman with the refinement of an ashtray had played him. No, that was assigning her too much credit. This was Connor's doing. Damn, he should have maintained his eavesdropping post instead of wandering off into a daydream, no matter how delicious. If Terry had seen the text of the reprimand he said nothing. But the way he was tapping his laptop screen gave the plunging man air breaks.

A hacker is a terrible thing to waste.


	4. Hacks in Hickville

_Because Syd appealed to me on Facebook to get a move on already... Presenting the next stage in Caspett's plan for world domination. Or, at least, to get the bitch outta his chair._

* * *

**Exipotic Warfare**

**Chapter Four**

It's just about done," Terry said from his place at Nigel's dining room table.

Three laptops, four programs and five coffees went into producing a sword with which they could slice Natalie Durant out of her position. Messy didn't concern Nigel, as long as the scan was untraceable and effective. There was someone occupying his chair, a woman clinging to his destined office and stalling the inevitable. In his mind, Caspett had already redesigned his business cards. Embossed like the letterhead. And unlike his current stack, they'd actually spell his name right.

"How is this going to work, exactly?"

Terry's sideways glance vowed that he'd waste no breath on particulars to the computer illiterate. _I'd tell you but then I'd have to…_

"Let's just say that when she swears she never got it, we'll have the time stamped evidence to the contrary." He rebooted one of his systems, then muttered something about going wireless next time.

Revenge is a dish best served heaping and the goal, total annihilation, needed to be thorough as well as emotionally satisfying. It wasn't enough to take her out, the occasion called for panache.

Nigel sniffed. "And this will bring me closure of the problem?"

With the pride of a craftsman, Terry beamed. "If you want her to look incompetent, this is your tool."

"And there's no way to tell that it's, as you say, a false door?"

"At first and second and eighth glance, it should appear legit."

That one word was an incessant needle to his eye and Nigel had to rub the sensation away. "Should?"

"Well, if they have a bored hacker on staff, they could invest the time to trace the pathways. But they'll be too busy sorting Durant out."

Right out the door, Nigel thought with a mighty rubbing of hands. Still it was an added worry for what he'd hoped to be a foolproof plan. The danger of exposure hardly made a dent in his determination to roll forward. No matter the disease, the next case would be…invigorating.

And immediate, according to the dual rings on their pagers. Terry blew out an irritated breath and switched off the rattling box.

"So much for date night."

Nigel grabbed his coat. "I'd have thought that once you were married, you'd have no need for such expense."

"My wife disagrees," said the beaten man.

An unconscious twist of his silver ring and Terry hit speed dial to deliver the grave news. His bride of two years could be heard through the blue tooth device and nothing in the tone suggested understanding. The bumper sticker was right; Marriage is for quitters.

…………

In a tiny Kentucky town which any map would be challenged to mark, five northerners brought their technology to a building with insufficient wiring. A local family practice had been converted into a triage as residents wandered in with boils the size of gum drops. The two doctors on staff had contracted the illness by virtue of proximity and few precautions had been established before the government team arrived. An isolation room was set up in the cafeteria and when that overflowed, Terry and Kyle knocked through the decayed dry wall to make space. The administrator gave nodding approval to the demolition between howls of blistering pain.

In subsequent hours, the NIH group was inspecting their own skins for signs of infection. There was little else to do. Samples lined the tables while they waited for three-prong adapters to arrive from a local hardware store so that they could plug in their equipment. Day one concluded with a fist fight among the aching patients, over high school football no less, and the following morning began with a dissertation on proper hygiene from the town drunk, still inebriated despite being days past his last bottle. The day proceeded with noticeable issues, from inconsistent power to a newly discovered lack of adequate medicinal supplies. Nigel excused himself at noon to fire off an urgent e-mail to his superior.

"I hate rednecks," Lucy grumbled over Kentucky's version of Chinese takeout as she prepared the nightly e-mail.

Kyle popped his head in at the comment. "That's uncalled for." The boy didn't wear sullen well and Lucy only giggled at the attempt.

Nigel swallowed what tasted like General Tso's toes. "I want Terry to add a few things to the bottom of the message."

It wasn't unusual, so the girl who routinely bit her nails down to extinction tapped away quickly before handing the laptop over.

"It's all yours but don't forget to requisition the anti-hick spray. These guys're half dead but still ogling me."

Terry let out a sinister wolf whistle while banging the thin keys. The clicking had no rhythm, pausing as though unsure even as his face arranged itself into grim concentration. Websites for hummers and future golf courses had been destroyed by this man, the internet his firing range.

"Done," he said after ten minutes.

"That was a lot of typing. Love letter to the Director?" Lucy's suspicious gaze was too playful to warrant concern.

"She is single, I understand," Caspett mused as though the notion was appealing.

Lucy raised her pencil-thin eyebrows. "Maybe. But the way she and Connor carry on, don't expect that status to last."

Rumor was a tool for ruin and he was just in the mood to indulge. "What have you heard?"

Adjusting her significant tush to find elusive comfort on the molded plastic chair, Lucy's eyes darted from Desmond to Terry to Nigel with conspiracy steaming from her skin.

"Obviously their smoldering looks are known to set off fire alarms. Not often, mind you, but they definitely check each other out. There's all that intensity when they face off, you know, like the romance novels say."

"No, Lucy. We don't read that stuff," Terry said. "We're called Men."

Her pierced tongue slid out momentarily. "Bet Kyle does. Anyway, there's been clandestine meetings of late up in her office. They're either solving the Iraq War or planning a wedding."

Or neither. Regardless, what had been done tonight would negate any plotting between the two former teammates. A glance at Terry showed the man was thinking the same.

Once left alone, Caspett leaned close and asked, "So she'll get the message in her box tomorrow with tonight's send time?"

Sporting the expression of the profoundly bored, the hacker stretched every muscle. "Our laptop will show we sent it tonight but hers will come up as unread. I just have to time it right to maximize the humiliation. After we make a complaint call to the brass."

And that was a glorious word. "Ten o'clock tomorrow. That should give them time to be present for the interrogation."

Terry fidgeted a bit. "Are you sure they're gonna think this is a big deal?"

"We asked for more penicillin. It didn't arrive. I expect Durant will get a close look at the carpet when they call her on it."

Patients put at risk by bureaucracy is a trigger that could detonate the woman's career. The worse he makes it sound, the deeper the pit that's dug for her. Of course, they'd smuggled extra medicine with them so the case comes out looking rather miraculous but Durant's reputation will be a car crash of lazy and careless administration. And her driver will go down with her.


End file.
